He had a look of satisfaction on his face, as if he were proud of how well he’d done his job. “The owners are clean. They were both at an art reception at the time of the chase at the hotel. Their car was gone when they left.”
“They reported it missing?”
“Yes.”
“No candy wrappers in the car?” I said. “Gum? Straws, napkins, anything else you could get DNA from?”
“I’m good at what I do, Agent Bowers.” His voice had turned cold.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Donning the latex gloves, I slipped into the car, sat in the driver’s seat, peered out the windshield.
This is the last thing the driver saw before exiting the vehicle.
From here, I could see the panning surveillance camera above the police station’s front entrance. I waited, it rotated toward me, then away from me, then toward me again, but by its position in relationship to the entrance and the panning angle, I guessed this car wouldn’t appear in the frame.
I asked Tielman about it, and he confirmed my suspicions-the team had checked the footage, he told me, but nothing came up. “If the killers’d parked thirty feet further up the block we would’ve had ’em.” His tone seemed to praise the police department’s potential cleverness rather than the killers’ anticipation of it.
Man, these guys were good.
And it was video again.
Always something to do with video.
Angles.
Orientation.
I recalled the cameras at the research facility, the deleted footage from 5:00 to 7:00, the video feed to the electronics store, the traffic camera catching the plates of the Volvo, the looping video footage of an empty alley. The killers seemed to be experts at turning against us the very tools we were using to try to find them.
And yet.
Yet…
The man who wheeled Mollie into the hotel had gotten caught on camera twice-entering the hotel and then entering the service elevator.
He’s too good for that.
Why didn’t he just use the alley entrance or the The dog didn’t bark.
He wanted us to chase him through the hotel.
I considered that.
Why would he want that?
I had no idea, but either the killers had been careless or they were so far ahead of us that they were orchestrating everything. Six moves ahead of us the whole time. They seemed to know the cave and were only showing us the tunnels they wanted us to see.
I stepped out of the car, asked Tielman, “This vagrant who was feeding the parking meter, did he remember when the guy gave him the money?”
“Just sometime yesterday afternoon.” He folded his arms: I’ve thought of everything. Go ahead, try to come up with something I missed.
“Any change left? If so-”
“He used about half of the money on booze,” Tielman interrupted me harshly. “We checked the coins he had left for prints, nothing came up in AFIS.” He looked past me, toward HQ. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”
“Good work here.”
After a pause. “Thank you.”
As I watched him leave, I noticed that three TV news vehicles were lined up at the end of the street, and Nick, the cameraman who’d been at the Lincoln Towers Hotel yesterday when I arrived, was climbing into the WXTN van.
And as he did, I had a few thoughts about an entrance to the cave I hadn’t yet peered down.
83
I pulled out my cell. It only took a few moments to find WXTN’s phone number online. I tapped it in as I entered headquarters.
Security was tight, but I knew one of the agents working the metal detector, and when I held up my creds and flipped up my jacket to show him my weapon, he waved me through.
The command post was on the third floor.
A WXTN secretary put me on hold, and by the time I was finally transferred to the station’s president, I’d made it up the three flights of stairs. “This is Bryan Tait,” he said. “I understand you’re with the FBI?”
I opted to stay in the privacy of the stairwell for our conversation. “Just doing a little fact checking. You have a cameraman working for you with the first name of Nick; can you confirm his last name for me?” I made up a name. “Is it Verhooven?”
“We have a large staff. I’m not familiar with all of our employees. Just a moment.” A pause as he looked up the name. “Trichek.”
“Can you spell that for me?”
“T-r-i-c-h-e-k.”
“I need you to send me a copy of his work schedule for this last week.” I figured I could pull up his address and phone number myself.
A pause. “Has he done something illegal?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Another pause. “I’m afraid that’s privileged information. I’d need to speak with legal affairs about this.”
“Sounds good. And while you’re on the phone with them, I’ll just call in for a warrant, save us both some time.” A small bluff. “We can chat again in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, I hope word doesn’t Steven James leak out that WXTN was hesitant to cooperate with the authorities. You know how these things can get around-”
A brief silence. “I suppose Mr. Trichek’s work schedule is nothing extraordinarily confidential.”
Didn’t think so.
“Good.” I gave him an email address to one of the Bureau’s secure online drop boxes, then said, “And also Chelsea Traye’s records. I’d like hers as well.”
A final stretch of hesitation. “Of course.”
I thanked him, ended the call, and headed down the hallway to the command post, trying not to assume anything.
And failing.
84
Work stations were set up throughout the sprawling conference room. I counted twenty-two people present, either tapping at computers, making phone calls, conferring in small groups, or poring over crime scene photos that’d been spread across the tables. I recognized some of the officers and agents; most of them I did not.
Lien-hua and Margaret were standing beside a few hastily arranged rows of folding chairs facing a large screen with a 2-D map of the city projected onto it, the locations of the crimes pinpointed with glowing red dots. A nearby eight-foot table strewn with papers, half-empty coffee cups, and two laptop computers lay just to Margaret’s left.
My eyes met Lien-hua’s, and neither of us were in a hurry to look away.
For a moment I thought of Cheyenne’s comment last evening that she would be in class all day, then call me tonight, and a curl of confusion wandered through me again.
Lien-hua.
Cheyenne.
Pat, don’t do this to yourself! Last night you Margaret dialed her gaze in my direction. “There you are.” Her words were full of her characteristic charm, but I sensed more antagonism than usual. “There’s a lot to cover.” She gestured toward the chairs. “Let’s get started.”
Often, agents in charge of task forces such as this will hold command level meetings and then have the lieutenants, detectives, and so on brief everyone else. However, it wasn’t unheard of to bring everyone together, and I knew that Margaret liked saving time and making sure her people were on the same page, so I wasn’t surprised when she paced toward the center of the room and called for everyone to gather for the briefing.
As the task force members left their work stations and began assembling in the chairs, Lien-hua gave me a furtive glance. “Good morning, Agent Bowers.”
“Good morning, Agent Jiang.”
“How’s the arm?”
“It hurts. But it’ll be okay.”
“I’m sorry for the first part, thankful for the second,” she said, then, “I enjoyed our briefing last night.”
I blinked. “Our briefing?”
“Yes. On the deck.”
“Oh. Yes. Our briefing. Perhaps tonight we can go a little more in-depth. About the subject matter.”
“Hm… I’ll be sure to prepare my notes.”
Oh, man.
Easy, Pat.
Lien-hua took a seat, and I pulled up a chair beside her.
Margaret waited until everyone was seated, then said, “All right, let’s begin.”